Page 83 of Vendetta Vows

"But still my wife, Aurora," he says. "You'll still stand with me on that altar. And I'll still make a vow to have and hold you. To care for and protect you. Whether in joy or sorrow, in failures or triumph. Our wedding may be fake in all but name, but my words and vows to you? Never."

His protectiveness feelswaymore intense than before. Like he's transformed from a shield into a fortress around me.

I can tell he doesn't just want to keep me safe, but truly claim me as his to protect.

I take a deep breath, drawing strength from his steady presence. His scent of mahogany and cedarwood fills my lungs, calming me in a way that nothing else has been able to calm me before.

I pull back slightly, smoothing down my dress and running a hand through my hair.

"I'm ready," I tell him, squaring my shoulders. "Let's call Julia back in."

Ruslan studies me for a moment, as if assessing whether I'm truly okay. His hand lingers on my arm, unwilling to break the connection between us.

"Are you sure?"

I nod, straightening my spine. "Yes."

He lifts my chin with one finger, making sure our eyes meet. "You are stronger than you know, Aurora Castellanos."

The way he says the name I stole from another dead girl fills me with a strange mix of guilt and gratitude.

Someday, I might tell him everything about me.

About Jamie.

But for now, this is enough.

Ruslan calls Julia back in, his hand still gently resting on my lower back as the door opens. The contact grounds me, gives me something to focus on besides the knot of emotions still tangled in my chest.

"I hope you're feeling better, Ms. Castellanos," Julia says with polished sympathy as she enters carrying a silver tray laden with an array of miniature cupcakes.

Each one is topped with different colored frosting, and Julia points them out from left to right.

"We have vanilla bean with buttercream, red velvet with cream cheese, lemon with raspberry, chocolate with ganache, and espresso with salted caramel."

One by one, I try them all, but the moment the espresso with salted caramel touches my tongue, an unexpected wave of nostalgia washes over me.

It tastes likehome.

It reminds me of Mom making the caramel by hand on special occasions, and asking me to pour it over coffee ice cream before putting it in the oven. It reminds me of Dad sneaking into the kitchen, dipping his finger in the batter, and then winking at me before he darts away.

I always winked back at him, treating it like I was helping him keep a secret. But looking back on it now, I recall Mom always had a knowing smile whenever she saw that smear of caramel on the edge of the bowl.

"This one," I say softly. "It's perfect."

"An excellent choice," Julia nods approvingly.

Ruslan watches me intently. "You seem quite taken with it."

"It reminds me of home," I whisper. "It reminds me of baking with my mom."

"Then that settles it," Ruslan says decisively. "The espresso with salted caramel. No need to try the others."

Then, he reaches out, thumb gently brushing the corner of my mouth.

"There's a little..." he explains, a tiny smile playing at his lips as he shows me the dot of caramel frosting on his thumb.

Without thinking, I catch his wrist and bring his thumb to my lips, taking the frosting with a quick kiss. His eyes darken instantly, and I feel the slight hitch in his breathing.

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